


lay down with me

by traiyadhvika



Category: South Park
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 22:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traiyadhvika/pseuds/traiyadhvika
Summary: Stan, Craig, and those little moments in life.“This is stupid. I’m going home.”This time Stan turns towards him, eyebrows raised. “Why’d you sit down then.”“To look at your stupid face.”





	lay down with me

**Author's Note:**

> drabble sequence of five unrelated scenes of their potential relationship/s. none of these are part of a continuous story except the last one which takes place after [a force of nature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420772), but it's not required reading!
> 
> they're anywhere between 16~26 here depending on the scene. i just wanted to write shorter stuff to get my brain juices going again lmao.

**las vegas strip**  
  
“I’m going to melt into the sidewalk,” Craig declares as soon as they step outside the hotel doors. “Goodbye.”  
  
Stan rolls his eyes. Ahead of them the rest of Craig’s group continues their argument over splitting an Uber and he already has no idea where Kyle and Kenny have already fucked off to.  
  
They’d already left Cartman somewhere back in the lobby (though Stan has a sneaking suspicion something else might be capturing his attention), in violation of school rules. But Mr. Mackey has no power here; bringing a bunch of podunk country kids to Las Vegas for their senior trip had been a Bad Idea to begin with, never mind the fact that everyone had scattered into the wind as soon as they’d run out the bus.  
  
“C’mon, let’s catch up.”  
  
“No.”  
  
It’s agonizing enough existing in this weather without having to listen to this asshole complain. “Then perish.”  
  
“Don’t meme me in public you fuck.”

  
  
**the denny’s parking lot at 3am**  
  
It’s not the first time he’s caught Stan doing weed out back, but it _is_ the first time he’s found Stan like this, laying spread-eagle on the pavement staring up at the buzzing insects beneath the lamplight.  
  
“Hey,” Craig says. “You look kind of dead.”  
  
“Hey,” Stan replies. He gestures towards the empty space next to him. “Lay down with me.”  
  
“What, so we can get run over together? No.”  
  
“You’re so _boring_.”  
  
Stan’s still got his uniform on, which would suck if someone caught them out here, but. Craig sighs and plops down on the cement stopper closest to him. Not like anyone’s gonna be out here running over high-schoolers at this time of the night. Probably. “This is stupid. I’m going home.”  
  
This time Stan turns towards him, eyebrows raised. “Why’d you sit down then.”  
  
“To look at your stupid face.”  
  
Hearing that, he grins. Craig can’t tell if it’s the drugs or just Stan’s face that’s doing the thing, but all he wants to do right now is smack him. “Come here, asshole.”  
  
He only pauses long enough to snatch the joint away before he bends down to let Stan wrap his arms around his neck.

 

**south park mall**  
  
The moment Stan spots Craig ambling over to where he’s sitting in the middle of his propped-up cardboard kingdom he wants to drill himself through the concrete and disappear.  
  
Fuck his dad for getting him this job.  
  
(Fuck _himself_ for blowing so much on that end-of-the-year party that he even needs a side gig to make up for it, during the holidays no less.)  
  
“I want a GoPro for Christmas,” the little girl in his lap says, pulling hard at his fake beard. Craig suppresses a snicker as he goes to stand in line. No, Stan thinks as he fires off another vaguely positive holiday platitude and watches the girl scoot off, he has a different want now. He wants to kill Craig.  
  
“Hey, you can’t be here—” one of the mall guards starts walking up to them, but before Stan could leap out of his Hallmark-themed throne and dive into the ferns Craig’s already cut the five now-booing children in front of him and has deposited himself smugly in Stan’s lap. “Hey!”  
  
“You,” Stan says after three seconds of his brain rewiring itself, “Are too old for presents this year. Get out.”  
  
“Wow, you’re still in character.”  
  
“I _said_ —“  
  
“Hey, I’m getting Santa for Christmas,“ Craig calls out to the crowd, and earns himself another round of boos. Stan could see Scott Malkinson in the back snicker in his own ill-fitting Mall Santa outfit. Great. “Fuck off.”  
  
Stan lets himself be pulled away, taking small comfort in the fact that by the time they’re far enough away and he’s shed himself of most of the outfit Craig’s face is also as red as Stan’s stupid polyester hat.

 

**duane physics building, university of colorado boulder**  
  
Craig’s halfway through his notes when his phone starts buzzing, the kind of buzz that would probably end up with him throwing the phone across the room in his sleep-deprived state.  
  
He doesn’t succumb to the urge, which is a win for today.  
  
“Siri, hang up on him.”  
  
“Oi!”  
  
The loud banging on his study room door leads him to look up to see Stan’s face plastered in the window. Craig flips him off and goes back to his Hamiltonian equations, which are starting to look more like alien glyphs than anything human.  
  
Stan lets himself in and plops in on the seat across from him, leaving the door wide open. “Are you seriously still studying.”  
  
“Close the fucking door,” Craig hisses, and then, because he sees what Stan’s bringing out from his backpack, reaches out a leg and kicks it shut. The other kick goes to Stan, who bites down on his yelp to glare at him. “Took you long enough.”  
  
“Ungrateful,” Stan says, pouting. Craig doesn’t miss a beat as he snatches the beer from him. “Most everyone out there’s knocked out already. I checked.”  
  
“Thanks, darling.” He leans over and plants a sloppy kiss on Stan’s cheek, grinning even as Stan rolls his eyes and half-pushes him away, sending paper this way and that onto the floor. “You’re the best.”

  
  
**yellowstone national park**  
  
Stan watches Craig climb up to the top of the rock, balancing precariously between two shallow indentations as he grabs onto a tree branch to steady himself. _He’s nuts,_ Stan thinks, but it’s also kind of hot. Not every day he gets to see Craig Tucker willingly participate in something that might get him killed.  
  
“Don’t die,“ he calls out, loudly. Craig flips him off and almost loses his balance.  
  
“Should give your supervisor a call,” Craig says, later, his grudge painfully obvious as they eat shitty overpriced sandwiches outside one of the lodges. It’s one of those universal mysteries that nothing can explain - aliens, Bigfoot, the fact that Craig spent so much school time in detention to wind up with a stick up his ass and a tendency to tattle. He’s not letting Stan get a word in this time. “‘Hey, one of your rangers is trying to get visitors killed, makes the NPS look kinda bad.’”  
  
“Like you would,” Stan replies, flicking a piece of crust at him. “I was being _helpful_.”  
  
“Course I would.”  
  
“Nuh-uh.”  
  
“…What are you, three?”  
  
“Least I don’t try to climb rocks for a photo op.”  
  
“You fell out of a tree trying to rescue a fox two weeks ago,” Craig points out, and shit, he’s right. “That was stupid. It could’ve gotten down by itself.”  
  
“It was hurt,” Stan mutters, frowning. His leg still throbs a little; thank fuck they’d set up a net. “What if it was Stripe #13 up there, huh?“  
  
“What if it had rabies.”  
  
“But it didn’t.” And then, because the corners of Craig’s mouth are twitching, Stan pulls him closer to look. “You weren’t like, _actually_ worried about me, were you.“  
  
“You actually thought I was worried about you,” Craig begins, but it’s no use—he’s gotten worse at his poker face since high school. Or maybe since he decided to move back out west, or maybe… “Don’t look at me like that, Marsh.“  
  
“Mm-hm.”  
  
“Fuck off.” But his arm already half-snaked around Stan’s waist, and the tips of his ears already so very slightly red in the cool September sunlight, tell a different story.


End file.
